Balance
by SpiritualEnergy
Summary: Hilary and Ozuma learn it's alright to tip the scale every once in awhile. [Hilary & Ozuma]
1. Leaving

**Title: **Balance  
**Pairing/Characters: **Ozuma/Hilary (yes, I _know_)  
**Status: **(1/4) - Incomplete  
**Disclaimer: **Beyblade © Aoki Takao  
**Time Line: **Post-Season 3  
**Author's Notes: **I know I haven't been very active in this fandom in awhile, but, well... I come bearing multi-chaptered crack!pairing fic now. Yay?

This was really fun to write – I had actually started this a long time ago, and it was only meant to be a short one-shot, but... um. It didn't turn out that way. /flails/ Enjoy!

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: LEAVING**

"_When they say  
You're not that strong  
You're not that weak  
It's not your fault  
And when you climb up to your hill  
Up to your place  
I hope you're well..."_

- _"Not Enough," _Our Lady Peace

* * *

Hilary never imagined she would be traveling alone. But it seemed like a lonely little journey that brought her closer to them, even if they didn't know it. Her head was hung low as she remembered all their days together; a happy little family where she was the pet with loyalty that sometimes made her cry. It was wrong to feel that way, she knew. But sometimes she liked the dark quality her thoughts held, and she would poke at them in her spare time when she was on a plane or gathering her courage to go and visit someone she knew would look at her strangely. 

The day the Bladebreakers finally disbanded was the day she felt herself being pulled back and forth in a game of Tug-of-War. She had expected disappointment and sadness to be resting on Tyson's face – and it had been. Just a little – but he hadn't had the same reaction as did in the Third World Championships. Alone and afraid, Tyson had climbed a ladder, she realized. And he had grown up, like she always nagged him to do.

And she was still a kid. And she knew it was never her influence that had sparked such a maturity, and that it was the game he loved that had really helped him advance.

And the words, "Never again," rang in her head like shrill chime bells. Kai had always held an air of finality to her, but she had always been able to persuade him before. She remembered going to him, asking him to stay. But he had just shaken his head, and said, "Not this time," and had turned away from her. And it had been that way with the other boys, one after the other. And after they were all finally gone – no more chances – she had cried. Just a little.

Hilary visited them each year to see how they were doing. Max was always pleased to see her, and he would tell her about his latest accomplishments that somehow had less and less to do with Beyblading each time; but he would always mention it. No matter what. And Rei would look at her with something she could only describe as pity. She wanted to grab hold of his hair and yank at it.

She had even went to Russia to visit Kai. His face had scrunched up into an expression she couldn't describe, but he listened to her anyways whenever she would come. Hilary noticed his blue face-paint was gone once. Off with the paint, the scarf, the gloves, and with each piece gone where a business suit took their place, Hilary felt like she was still a kid where someone had to hold her hand.

Every time she saw one of her friends grow a little higher in height, or when the talks would no longer center around Beyblading, Hilary felt herself coil into a little ball as her clothes suddenly seemed too tight and her throat dry.

One day, she had asked Kenny to replay some old video clips he had recorded when he was still intent on studying opponents. He had looked at her strangely – and a little wearily, too. He knew she wasn't all that great with computers – and reluctantly let her go through them. It was slightly surprising he still had them after all these years, but it made her heart flutter in joy that he had kept them.

She watched for a long time. Probably longer than she should've, as Kenny was telling her he had to leave and that she should get some sleep when she realized she had watched them all night long. When he had left, Hilary let herself think back to them – some were old. She had mostly stuck to the ones that she had already seen with her own eyes, but she couldn't help but let curiosity take over – and she felt the mouse under her hand click one after the other, as she stared at them all.

There, the boys were younger. She had seen a picture with them like this once. She had looked at it without much care – other than noting Kai looked particularly cute – but she seemed almost amazed at how young they could all be. It never seemed to register to her before that they were all World Champions before they had even met her.

And then she decided.

It was her turn for a little adventure.

* * *

Picking himself up from the dirt, Ozuma steadied himself, glancing down at the spinning blade that sat at his feet, as if awaiting orders. 

He held out his hand, and the familiar feeling of metal in his palm sent a shiver down his spine. He liked this feeling of being powerful; of being competent. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and the surrounding trees covered him in a way that made him feel secluded.

It was then that he would remind himself that he was no longer hiding inside these treetops with the Saint Shields. Ozuma remembered how the elder had looked at him with those old eyes that held pride – and if the others hadn't been standing there beside him, he would've thought the elder was looking at him alone after they had come back home after their long mission.

All his training had paid off in the end, because he had done good for the tribe, and for the sacred bit beasts – and –

There were no more Saint Shields.

With a twist, Ozuma's mouth curved into a frown.

He had always respected their elder. But as he remembered what he had said – how they were finished – how things have changed – how there would be no more missions afterward -

- and how they weren't needed.

Ozuma had always found pleasure when he thought about returning home when he and his teammates were isolated in that damp, dark warehouse when they were still chasing after the Bladebreakers. It was a quiet comfort for him, and he would sometimes burn with it just like Flash Leopard. But never – never had he ever wanted –

- a rustling of leaves startled him.

"Geez," muttered Mariam, climbing out of the bushes and over to him. "Just how long to you plan on sitting around here for?" she asked, tsking. She had her arms crossed, and was looking at him in that same critical stare she would always give. "Well?"

"I was training, Mariam – maybe you should try it sometime." He saw her roll her eyes at him, and he shook his head.

Mariam uncrossed her arms to give him another look – he didn't like it. "Come off it already, Ozuma," she said. "That was over a year ago. Don't you think you should try and get over it? Joseph and Dunga left months ago, because, unlike you, they don't need some mission to go out and do what they want."

Ozuma gave a quiet growl, eyebrows rising. "Haven't you already said this before? I told you, I'm -"

"Leaving."

At her sudden interruption, he stopped and stared. She stared back at him with those same eyes from years ago, but her hair was longer and her goals were obviously different. It had never really occurred to him how much she had changed, or when such a change had transpired. It left a vile taste in his mouth.

"How long do you plan to be gone?" he asked, now crossing his own arms over his chest.

Mariam shook her head, as if she had expected this answer. "That's the thing, Ozuma," she said sharply. "I don't know. I want to move around and travel like Joseph and Dunga; maybe go and meet a few people. We're all older now, and all I know is that this place has been bringing me down big time," she said. "And you're not exactly helping either," she added, hands balled up and curling themselves into her pockets.

He felt his own hands ball up into fists, and a slight tremor shook his body. "Oh? And why is that, Mariam?" he questioned, words sharp and direct.

She threw up her hands in exasperation, and the once cool, pointed gaze she had held flew away instantly. "You just don't get it, do you? You're like a zombie!" Here she shifted, the balls of her feet moving back and forth. "It's as if you think the elder is suddenly going to call us in for another mission. But you know what? The Bladebreakers are the ones who are taking care of the four sacred bit beasts now, not the Saint Shields. That was what we all decided when we left afterwards. Or did you just not think of the after?" Mariam seethed, face reddening as her glare returned.

Ozuma opened his mouth to retort, but the words died away. He suddenly felt as if there was sand stuck in his throat.

Mariam tsked again, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. "As I said, I'm leaving. I don't know when I'll come back – we never have before." With that, she turned around and began to pad over toward the bushes again.

"Fine," he spat, eyes narrowed as his head fell to look at the dirt he had kicked up. "Do whatever you want."

Mariam sighed, craning her head over to look at him over her shoulder. "Ozuma," she said, softer this time, and he could practically see the gears turning in her quirky head. "Be a leader."

And then he watched her walk away.


	2. Arriving

**Title: **Balance  
**Pairing/Characters: **Ozuma/Hilary  
**Status: **(2/4) - Incomplete  
**Disclaimer: **Beyblade © Aoki Takao  
**Time Line: **Post-Season 3  
**Author's Notes: **If Max and Mariam can have their own Little Moments together, then maybe Ozuma and Hilary isn't _too _much of a stretch... Nah.

(Yay. Part 2.)

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: ARRIVING**

So she hadn't exactly been tactful. It'd never stopped Tyson or Daichi before.

Yes. They were always the ones off doing the most tactless things she'd ever seen. Like – like charging into a fight they knew nothing about, or running into the wilderness with only the clothes on their backs and her magnificent picnic basket. Or when they had dressed up like one big man to get them the parts they needed to fight against BEGA. Right. Tactless. But they still did it.

And she wasn't them.

Hilary collectively decided everyone was laughing at her.

Before long, Hilary knew she would be owing everything she had to pay back Mr. Dickenson. The man had given her such a look of affection, and Hilary wondered if he had ever Beybladed before. She had almost asked him, too, after she was through telling him her plans – as tactless as they were – but his instant acceptance had her body moving faster than her brain as she bowed her head and smiled and thanked him thoroughly.

After so many years, he still thought of them as if they were bladers. And even though the new BBA building was back up and fully running, she knew the Bladebreakers had held a special place in the chairman's heart, no matter how much he tried not to play favorites.

Stepping out into the foliage, Hilary fidgeted where she stood.

So she was a little nervous. She knew that was to be expected, as she was about to greet someone who she hadn't met in a long time – some of which she had never met at all – and –

It was unfamiliar. And dark. And what was that noise?

As Hilary took another small step, she practically doubled back as something hurled right toward her, glinting as if it were giving her a signal to move, and –

- she did this instantly.

Pushing herself into the dirt below her, she gave a startled scream, before closing her eyes tight and throwing her hands over her head. Her breathing was ragged, and she felt as if her heart had jumped up into her throat.

She took a moment to sit up, and her eyes landed on the blade in front of her, swirving around in a circle as if it thought her display was humorous. Getting up to stand on wobbly feet, Hilary tilted her head as her gaze fell on the concealed face of a person.

She felt another scream rising from her throat, but hesitated when the blade retreated to its owner, and she heard his voice.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

She hadn't felt such a relief in a long time at hearing his voice, and – that goes to say she'd never been relieved to hear his voice _at all_ in the past, as she laid down the facts – called out to him, "Ozuma!"

Almost as if she had spoken the magic word, he froze. The wind tugged at his cloak, just asking him to take it off, and Hilary shivered in apprehension. He looked taller, and his voice was deeper, but she could still recognize his Beyblade and the way he held himself.

And then, finally, as if coming to a decision, two gloved hands made their trail up to his face, pulling down the hood. A mass of red and grey hair met her gaze.

"Who are you?"

A tinge of confusion marked his words as he looked down at her with quiet, narrowed eyes. She got her footing again, and took a moment to look at this boy – that boy – that boy – who had once been so bent on sealing the four sacred bitbeasts. If things were different, she told herself, or the same – she wasn't so sure – she wouldn't be here with him, and he wouldn't be here with her, and –

"Hilary," she replied.

He raised an eyebrow in response, and said, "Who?"

Gritting her teeth at his obvious lack of recognition – what had it been? A couple of years? – she practically dug her foot into the ground. "Hilary – one of Tyson's friends," she spared a look at him, and his eyebrows shot up even more. She noticed he didn't seem so still anymore as he strided over to her. She made a mad dash to finish her sentence, "from when the Saint Shields were – eep!"

Ozuma took his time in examining her, and Hilary was now close enough to see his face in its entirety. She blinked at him, and a smirk curled its way onto his face. "Tyson, huh?" he asked, leaning back and crossing his arms. He wore an expression she couldn't read – for the first time, she could see him as the old Ozuma; young and serious. "And what business do you have with the Saint Shields?"

Hilary felt the old arrogance in his voice vibrate in her breast, and could've stomped on his foot by now if she didn't have a purpose here and if he wasn't going to be the one to guide her around. She could've pulled out her hair at his blank look. "Well – you see – I've been visiting old aquaintences these past few -"

"Aquaintences?"

It felt like he had poured a bucket of cold water over her head. "Yes," she said, looking at him with a glaring eye, "aquaintences." She noticed he seemed to regard her with a bored look now. "Anyways, I've just thought..." Taking a moment to breathe, Hilary realized just how dark it was, and how she hadn't expected it to be this late, and just how stupid she must've seemed. "...I could – visit – um..."

Her resolve suddenly felt as if it were draining out of her system; the grass below her feet suddenly seemed very tall and constricting.

"You certainly have a lot to tell," he commented, and she just knew he thought she was a loon. His face suddenly seemed less stony as his eyes widened into something like saucers, as if he were thinking things over again in that muddled brain of his. "I bet..." he mumbled, and then stopped to look at her as if it were the first time he saw her. "Very well. C'mon, I'll lead the way. Follow me."

He turned away from her with a twist of his cloak, demanding that same respect he had demanded years ago.

"Wha –" Mouthing her astonishment as he started to disappear over the hills, Hilary felt her legs come to life as she sprinted after him, sincerely hoping she wouldn't tumble over anything.

* * *

Ozuma could feel excitement well up in his chest for the first time in years. He distantly realized in the back of his mind that he probably shouldn't be feeling such a thing. He knew he would've felt differently if he were still just a kid struggling to accomplish his mission and grasping at straws to get the chance to return home. The old walls he built as his home and the people he had known for as long as he could remember were right here; he flung back the sheets he had sitting messily onto the floor aside, his temper alight as he sat down without preamble, and promptly cursed his former teammates in his head, only vaguely aware that the girl he'd brought back was staring at him and not saying anything. 

He could've punched a hole into the floorboards. He crunched his fingers together into a ball. Oh, the fist again. That'd been showing up a lot lately. Ozuma almost felt like Dunga.

"Well," Hilary swirled her finger around in a circle over the wooden floors, looking uncomfortable as she looked over at his disgruntled expression. "You have a very – um – lovely place here," she said, a strained grin overcoming her features, and the situation finally caught up with him and he could've smacked his forehead because that episode in the forest almost seemed like a lapse in sanity.

Ozuma leaned forward, and the same awkward feeling came over him as he started thinking about her presence again. "Sure," he said, and couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Same as always. But I don't think we came here to talk about that, now, did we?" His question made her give him a look that he couldn't descirbe other than one of distaste. Her face was set in a firm frown, and so was his.

Outside, the quiet spatter of rain could be heard as it began to beat against the roof of the hut.

She was quiet for awhile, and then shook her head, almost as if coming to a decision, saying, "No, no. You're right. I actually came on a certain matter of... business," she said, although she looked as if she had just said it the wrong way. Either way, Ozuma's anxiety curled around his throat and lodged itself there.

This girl had been friends with Tyson. Bit beasts and missions and destiny and, _oh, you'd better not give us a reason to come back, because we will seal them the next time whether you want us to or not_, came to his mind at the word 'business'. After all – what other buisness could she have with him if something bad hadn't occured with the sacred four bit beasts? Were the Bladebreakers misusing them? Did she come because she found it wise to instead of just protecting them like last time? It was warped logic, he realized. He wasn't really sure how it all worked, truth be told. He didn't know how it was possible to see that the powers were being misused when he wasn't there. Back when he was still training his body to fit his mind, he had always thought that perhaps he would just know. Because the Saint Shields were the ones to carry the duty. Maybe he would notice a change in the weather patterns, or maybe things would just seem off skew.

However off skew things could be these days.

But no sign had ever come to him – or even the elder for that matter – and he just settled for waiting because she wasn't saying anything to cure his anxiety and damn, this was pathetic.

"Is it the sacred four?" he asked, finally deciding that she was a lost cause. Her face snapped up to meet him instantly, frozen in surprise. "What's your game? Why did you come here, instead of Tyson? Afraid to face me, is he?" he asked, and he knew he was talking too much and that he sounded like an idiot – was this why Mariam had left?

Hilary's mouth snapped closed at his hasty words. "Wha-what?" she deadpanned, hands tugging at the strap of her traveling bag, which sat on her lap as if she were trying to protect herself with it. "No! Of couse not, and for your information, mister, Tyson isn't afraid of you!" she admonished. "As a matter of fact, he doesn't have anything to do with why I'm here!"

Ozuma stared, and she stared back, her shoulders shaking as she calmed down from her sudden outburst.

Aquaintences. Visits. Traveling bag.

Oh.

"So what are you saying then?" he asked. "That you have business with me?"

"Well, I don't know if calling it business was the right word to use, but -"

"Then what would you call it?" he bit out, feeling that diddy-dallying any longer would make him lose his temper. He couldn't think of any reason why she would be here, business or not. He had barely even recognized her when she had first arrived – her link with Tyson being the only reason why he knew her at all. Her reluctance to tell him anything of her little visit was starting to make him wary.

"Um, I guess you could call it what it is," she said, holding up an index finger as if she were trying to make a point. "It's more or less a visit, really. You see, there's so many people and old aquaintences out there, and I just thought it would be nice to go and see them," she paused, seeming to think her words over, "...I thought a little vacation would suffice."

Her words were strung together, making a sentence that passed by him and giving him the subtle feeling of isolation once again, and he was tempted to really punch the floorboards this time. He gave a twisted sneer and clenched his hand around his cloak and let his fingers wring them. It appeared that everyone was leaving home these days.

"Then you've wasted your time coming here."

The front of Hilary's hand connected with the floor as she leaned over to give him a surprised look. "What?" she asked, mouth open.

He shook his head, getting up. "Your banter has nothing to do with me, and I'm not the kinda guy to stick around and host parties. So, looks like you're gonna have to go – I'm sure there are other people's time you can waste."

She looked at him as if she wanted to yell at him until his ears bled, and –

That's what she did.

"Well, excuse me, Mr. Hotshot! You don't have to be so rude – I can't believe I thought visiting you guys would be a good idea! So don't worry – I'll see myself out, thank you!" Giving him a glare, she sat up and marched her way out the door, only sparing him a muffled sound that he couldn't make out.

With a grunt, he fell back onto the sheets of his bed and looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes. He was foolish to get his hopes up about something that had already been decided a long time ago. He was older now, and more experienced. He didn't need some pesky girl he hardly knew from before coming and telling him she wanted to visit just for the heck of it. His brow furrowed. She was really –

- a flash of lightning cracked like a whip, and he could see the door peeking open and a drenched head of brown hair making an entrance. Sitting up, he saw that she didn't look happy at all.

Ozuma gave a heavy sigh of regret, and knew it was going to be a long night.

xxx

Hilary wondered, almost as if she were calculating a very complicated math equation, if she could throw her shoe at him and get away with it. Turning on her side and looking up at him with inquisitive eyes as the hard floor stood solid against her, she realized the chance was slim to none, seeing as he was staring right at her from his bed. 

"What is it?" she asked, trying not to sound as if she was particularly interested – oh, she wasn't interested, definitely not! – but his relentless stare still made her feel uneasy. She wiggled in the tangled sheets he had given her, and – oh! Was that a bug she felt crawling up her leg?

Ozuma watched her for another moment. It appeared that he was sizing her up; taking in her movements and just wishing she weren't there. He proved her suspicions correct when he shifted and turned away, his back now facing her.

Well, fine. Be that way, she thought sourly. She didn't like him – at all. He was rude and mean and wasn't very welcoming and she really wanted to throw her shoe at him.

The pitter patter of rain pouring from outside was soothing. The window had been cracked just a fraction – at least that was a plus to this overall negative situation – and she could make out the swaying trees as the wind and rain clawed at them. It calmed her nerves somewhat, and reminded her of when the boys would train outside during such weather because Kenny thought it would be good to test them for any situation.

She wondered how they were doing, and if they missed her – they'd better, she snorted to herself – and wondered if they still sat around in a lazy heap and remembered the past as she was doing just now.

Hilary yawned, and distantly wondered in the back of her mind where the other Saint Shields were. It was only Ozuma who had come to bring her into his hut; she had been expecting others. The rest of his teammates – she had come to see all of them, anyways. Maybe they were sleeping in another hut where the leader could get some sleep alone, or maybe – maybe –

She didn't know. She almost thought of asking him right then so that she could go and maybe ask to spend the night elsewhere, but she decided the view of his back was enough to make a statement.

Grumbling to herself, Hilary closed her eyes and could just see the tumble weed passing them by.

She'd figure something out tomorrow.

* * *

Ozuma awoke to find her eating right next to his bed, a look of concentration on her face. He almost turned over and went back to sleep before realizing that, yes, she was really still there, and that, no, it wasn't a good idea to leave her awake and by herself for too long in his hut. 

He sat up, and she jumped a little from her seat on the floor. She peered up at him with a frown, and held out a sandwitch she had produced from her bag. "Want breakfast?" she asked casually.

He looked at what was in her hand, and almost wrinkled his nose in distaste – something of questionable stature was gazing up at him. "No."

"All for me, then," she mumbled, taking another bite of her food, almost stubbornly.

The rain had stopped by then; Ozuma could see the sun shining brightly outside from the open window.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked her, irritated. She gave him a huff, mouth still full of food.

He could almost hear Joseph laughing at him in the back of his thoughts, and he pushed it away forcefully, not wanting to dwell on his old teammate and the growing resentment he felt.

She took a napkin from her bag and patted her face with it to clean off any mess she'd made, and then turned to stare at him. "I wanted to ask you some things – this is still a visit, you know," she said.

Ozuma raised an eyebrow at her. "Then ask."

She sighed, as if expecting that answer. He took a seat and placed his chin up on his hand as he let himself be comfortable in her presence. It was his living quarters, anyways.

"What happened to the other Saint Shields?" was the first thing that came out of her mouth. "I expected Mariam and the others to be here too, and -"

Ozuma took a quiet moment to reflect, and he was slightly surprised she knew his ex-teammate's name. He wondered just how much she remembered about them, about him. He wondered if she even remembered anything at all and was just relying on old information from her little friends. He almost asked her, before realizing that that was what she wanted. Except instead of him asking all the questions, it would be like a circle. He would ask something, she would ask something. He didn't much care for reminiscing – he prefered training to talking, getting stronger to getting pettier.

"- wasn't sure why." She had finished talking by then, and he hadn't heard a word. She looked up at him expectantly, bright eyes blinking up at him.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "It looks like you're alone too," he said instead, compromising. Avoiding the question.

She froze, and something in him flared. "...yeah," she said, suddenly looking down at her hands. "Yeah."

It seemed that was all she could say.

"And you decided to come here."

She looked up – _up, up at him, right up_ – and shook her head a little. "Not just here," she said, as if stating the obvious. "I've been planning to move around all over the place now! Mostly just going to see all the old Beyblading experts," she said, smiling brightly. "I thought it would be a great experience."

Ozuma looked at her and narrowed his eyes. She looked too chipper, too much like a young girl and not enough like someone he should be familiar with. He really had no idea why someone like Tyson would hang around with her; she looked way too simple to be of any use to a team of champions.

He could tell she was lying.

"Experts?" he droned, as if asking why it had even been dubbed a word in her vocabulary.

She was scratching at her head now, running a hand through her hair. "Um. Well," she started. "Yes?"

In that one moment, he almost found her funny. If she was just a bit more serious, was just a bit more focused and not a girl Tyson knew, she might've been a decent blader.

If she was better.

Ozuma looked down at her hopeful eyes and her pink clothes and felt the world shift.

"...fine."

It started.


	3. In Between

**Title:** Balance  
**Pairing/Characters:** Ozuma/Hilary  
**Status:** (3/4) - Incomplete  
**Disclaimer:** Beyblade © Aoki Takao  
**Time Line:** Post-Season 3  
**Author's Notes: **The 'In Between'. I thought it was a fun part to write. (I like snapshots.)

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE: IN BETWEEN**

When it was dark and he knew she was far away in her dreams back at his hut, he would go and train. Flash Leopard was always tucked in his hand, warm, waiting, a silent companion that he knew would never leave him as long as he remained strong and fit.

It was times like these that allowed him to uncurl the knots in his head and think. And be angry. His Beyblade would burn with the thoughts of his old teammates and would charge at the nearest tree. Marking, scratching, burning.

He wasn't sure who he was more angry at. He was angry at the elder for holding him back, pulling something away from him that had been apart of him since birth. He was angry with Dunga and Joseph for being the first ones to leave, and with Mariam for being too bored and too independent and too influenced with what she could find outside their home.

A crash sounded throughout the forest as a tree came tumbling down at his feet. He gripped his steaming blade in his hand and let Flash Leopard look back up at him from the bit in the middle.

He'd settle for being angry at home itself.

xxx

Sometimes Hilary would hear bumps in the night. She assumed with a growing headache and a weary expression that it was just Ozuma scurrying around outside in the forest. She wondered if he knew just how loud he was. She almost felt compelled to stick her head out the doorway and screech how some people were trying to sleep and that it wasn't a good idea to start fires.

But she relented, coming to the conclusion that yes, she should be polite to him because he was letting her stay until it was time for her to move on. She'd been thinking of where that might be; a good place to move on, who to see next. If that could even be called moving on.

If the boys could see her now... what would they say about her little adventure? Would they call her crazy? Would they tell her it wasn't necessary? That they could've told her everything about them and what they went through together that didn't include her?

Would they come and find her?

Hilary shook such thoughts from her head. She was practically an adult now, or at least not a child. It was her decision on what she wanted to do with her time, regardless if it had to do with her friends' pasts.

She gripped her sheets a little tighter to herself, curling up. Right – moving on.

It was cold tonight.

xxx

When he'd return, it wasn't always the same. Sometimes he had bruises and scratches in the middle of the night, while other times he would have burn marks traveling up his fingers and hands while in a foul mood in the early hours of the morning.

It wasn't ever the same with her either. Sometimes when he'd return, she'd be asleep, dreaming of spinning tops and childhood boogie men who reached out to pull her into a watery grave. Other times she'd be awake thanks to his arrival, and would be irritable but still concerned and just a little bit awed at the blisters and marks as she cleaned them with the first aid kit she had packed – just in case.

He would let her, after she would insist.

During these quiet moments, she would chat about this-and-that and here-and-there and my-gosh-look-what-you-did.

That always stayed the same. Tonight wasn't any different.

"Just what the heck do you do out there anyway?" she asked one time, gazing at his injury after she'd made him take off those black gloves he liked to wear so much.

"Train," he replied, pulling his hand away from her inspection. "Are you done yet?"

She shook her head, looking as if she wanted to say something nasty. "The Bladebreakers never got this beaten up. This looks pretty extreme to me."

"I'm not one of your Bladebreaker pals. The Saint Shields do things differently."

She stopped, taking in his words and letting them toss and turn in her mind. Then she would go back to what she was doing, this time not as gently. "I know."

He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by _I know_.

xxx

He hadn't been sure what to think when he had gone training the next day like always to discover that she was sitting there waiting for him. She'd greet him with a sugary smile and would wave at him.

She seemed to be taking up more and more of his space as time wore on – how long was it now? A week? -- and it always pressed in on him like a hot metal iron. But it wasn't that hard to imagine how she'd found her way here – only a quick sweep of the eyes could pick up the uprooted trees and the large clearing where they lay.

He decided he wouldn't even ask. If she wanted to stay and not get in his way, then that was fine with him.

She watched him wind up his launcher, and hearing the familiar click of a blade being snapped into place, she said, "I thought it would be a good idea to come and keep you company!"

She'd said it just as he had launched, and his blade had went twirling at his feet until it lay completely still.

Startled, he picked it up again, preparing to launch once more. He could feel her eyes on him, burning into his back. It was enough to make him look back at her, only to find her giving him the thumbs-up sign and a quip about how he should stay focused.

Yes, she was definitely doing it on purpose – perhaps that was her own way of getting back at him for trying to steal the bit beasts oh so long ago – and she appeared to be having fun disturbing him.

He turned away, and gripped his launcher tightly again, preparing... pulling – now –

She called out. "And you'll have me to help out if you get hurt again -"

Flash Leopard leaped and spiraled into one of the bushes nearby.

She grinned in apology. He glared back at her.

"Go away."

xxx

She liked his earring. Too much.

"So, what's the deal with them? Is it some kind of special... symbol?" she asked, voice surprisingly serious.

Ozuma snorted, watching as she made wild gesticulations. "Oh, yeah," he said, and her eyes widened in what looked like fear. "Our tribe uses them for lots of stuff." He realized he was actually being playful with her.

She didn't seem to notice. "Really? Like what?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she inclined her head forward so that she was right in front of him. "I bet I know." She said that bit slowly, as if trying to get him to understand some strange language. "I bet they're used for some weird ritual stuff! Like, like... I bet you throw them into the fire and then some monster comes out and curses people!"

What? She was acting ridiculous.

"How did you know?"

But he didn't really mind messing with her.

The desired effect was present, because she let out a squeak and put a hand over her gaping mouth. "Is that why you only have one?"

Ozuma almost smirked. He never knew she was so superstitious –

"Can I have one?"

- the desired effect was gone.

"No."

xxx

He started following her like the spy he was after that. He didn't really know why; she wasn't particularly important and was really bossy, but he supposed it gave him something to do besides his routinely training sessions – a mission of sorts. To figure her out. Because even if she wasn't interesting or powerful, she still hadn't told him the whole truth of her stay here.

She hadn't questioned him any further about the lack of Saint Shield members, and he collectively decided it didn't matter and that it really wasn't any of her business anyway. Perhaps she assumed they would come back sometime before she had to leave. When was she leaving, anyway? She hadn't told him. All he knew was that she was staying – for a visit –in his hut. Like his teammates – friends – had before her.

It felt foreign and strange and made him think of her more than he ever thought he would. She talked too much but not enough.

It took her a week to figure out what he was up to.

"Oh!" he heard her exclaim, and glanced down from his perch in his tree to see her looking up at him with raised eyebrows, amusement alight in her eyes. She'd found him. "Reliving your old Mr. X days, huh?" she asked, hands on her hips.

Ozuma snorted, climbing down and giving her a look of his own.

"Exactly," he answered, turning and walking away from her indignant shouts.

xxx

After she finished patching him up that night – bruise near the neck, scrape on the cheek, blisters on the hands – she commented on the stalking.

"Stop it. It creeps me out." And that was it.

Ozuma looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Sorry," he said, not sorry at all, "It's what I was trained to do." He leaned back slightly, palms open, blisters burning.

Hilary scrunched up her nose. "By who?"

He closed his palm, and one of the blisters popped. "Our elder."

And then he just saw her nod - nice, long and _slow_.

Ozuma would still follow her after that.

She eventually stopped talking about it, and let him.

xxx

"How come you guys never went to any tournaments after you stopped trying to take the bit beasts?" she asks once.

He looks away from his work on Flash Leopard and to her, and shrugs. "Wasn't important anymore." Lies, lies, lies.

She takes a moment to glance over at him, and then to the many blade parts strewn across the ground. She doesn't look him in the face.

If he didn't know any better, he would've thought she suspected him of the lie. But he also knows he can't be getting _that _rusty, and simply goes back to tinkering with an attack ring.

xxx

Hilary clucks her tongue on the roof of her mouth and says with a certain sing-song voice, "I get it now," when she catches him one day throwing an extra blanket of his on top of her little makeshift bed on the ground (because she was not using his. Ever).

"What?" he asks, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

She looks amused. "You really _are _a good guy."

He snorts, raising an eyebrow at her. The terms 'Good Guy' and 'Bad Guy' are lost on him. "I don't think so." A vague memory of saving her in the Battle Tower filters through.

"Oh?" she says, looking over at the rumpled blanket on top of her own sheets. "And what is that?"

He waves a hand in its general direction. "Convenience."

She grins. "For who?"

He decides not to answer. He's realized that Joseph was right about one thing – he was the bad cop, she was the good cop.

He still can't figure out which one had more fun.

xxx

There was still some things she never spoke about. He could understand that perfectly.

That was why, when he listened to her tell her old stories of her home and friends like always one day after a long walk in the village, even he knew he had crossed boundaries when he asked, "You really miss your friends, huh?"

She did that thing where she would look up at him – and _only _him – and was so honest it made him uncomfortable.

"In more ways than one."

xxx

She was annoying him today. A lot.

Her constant chatter is much more appreciated than this.

She's been trying a new route lately.

"Hey, Ozuma." His name on her tongue makes him tense but is also something that makes him look at her more. She's smart. Too friendly.

"What?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you know Tyson was supposed to be on cleaning duty the first time he met you?" she questions, and then he has to reconsider his new view of her again, like always.

"No," he answers. Straight - to the point. No-nonsense.

She carries on, drawn-out, trivial, but about him this time. "Well, he was. That first day when you came to that local tournament in that cloak – very spy-esque, by the way – Tyson had sneaked out of the classroom after pretending his appendix had burst, and me being the kind and concerned person that I am, went to get help. Came back and he was gone; oh, he left this really rude picture up on the blackboard too. I think it was -"

He listened to her and came to the conclusion that she just Wouldn't Go Away.

Ozuma has been noticing changes lately. The way her hands seemed just a little fidgety, or how her hair would fall in her eyes, or how she would say those syllables that would make him look at her straight in the face. _O-Zu-Ma_. It was affectionate and familiar and no longer snarled at him because they were enemies or because of some strained companionship.

He's not entirely sure if he likes it yet.

"- been before," she finishes. He hadn't heard a word.

She looks at him with curious eyes.

He sighs. "Missed that last part." He's indulging her. Another change.

She bristles, then replies, "I said that I was wondering where you've been before. You know, after the World Championships and stuff. We never saw you after the bit-beast mess."

Ah. That again.

He fingers the blade in his pocket at little, at the slight mention of past battles and mistakes. "Nothing much," he answers after awhile.

She seems to notice that he's not himself then. "Oh." She seems to be thinking things through. "Have you been moving around then?" she asks.

Ozuma stops, the warmth from his blade now gone as he folds his arms over his chest. "You could say that, I guess."

Her eyes light up. "Really?" She's in front of him now. "Like where?"

He doesn't trust himself to speak.

But soon enough he realizes he doesn't have to, because she's already rambling on again.

"I've always thought it was cool, you know. Traveling, I mean. Before I'd even met the guys I'd always thought it would be awesome to see different places, meet different people... these last years have been the best."

He's quiet, and for what seems like the very first time, she is too. She glances down at her feet before looking over at him from across the other side of the room. He sees truth there, and almost recoils.

She continues on, voice growing stronger as words float up. "Even when Tyson was being stupid; we went to Egypt this one time for a tournament, and he had been in this slump..." She wasn't speaking to him anymore. "And he lost lots of battles and stuff, before Daichi pulled him out of it." She snorted. "Everything went... really _well _after that." Bitterness is sensed almost instantly.

Ozuma lets himself lean against the wall, eyes stuck and full of nothing but _her _as she relives everything. He wasn't used to this kind of talk; these heart to heart talks had never taken place between the Saint Shields – nothing beyond worries of missions and complaints about each other, and maybe an inside joke here and there – and he almost wanted to ask her why she was bothering to tell him any of this.

And then she looked at him, straight on, with fire in her eyes. "Have you ever imagined yourself without your Beyblade, Ozuma?"

"Of course not." That's a lie, of course. Because he's actually thought about it _a lot _lately. Ever since the team had left. He wonders what it would be like to not go out and train everyday out of sheer habit, or what it would be like to walk in Hilary's shoes. To stand back and watch.

"I've tried Beyblading. Once." She does that tongue-in-cheek thing he keeps on noticing more and more these days, and he waits for her to tell him the rest, almost as if it were some amazing story the elder would tell him on dark nights. "I'm not very good, though. I almost tipped a whole bus over. I was _so _embarrassed." She's smiling now, and he feels his shoulders relax somewhat – which is good. He doesn't think he could handle tears. "I don't get it, though," she says, pouting. "Why is everyone else so good, and I can't even manage to keep it spinning?"

"You need more balance."

She glances over at him, tilting her head to the side. She understands then – this talk – this conversation – is private to him. Not their normal chit-chat. Intimate.

"Balance?"

He nods slightly. "You can't tip the scale too much. If you're too resistant, it'll slow down on you. If you're too eager, you'll lose control. Burn out." He remembers when he had almost lost Flash Leopard in that amusement park, and he knows she does too because her face is scrunched up and he hears a sharp intake of breath. "The blade is only as strong as the blader." It's almost harsh, but the tone is lighter and the need to tell her is overwhelming.

There's silence for what feels like a lifetime, before he finally hears her say, "I understand."

He knew she would. "You don't have to be a blader to be important to your team, you know." The memory of her showing up at the village is achingly raw and colorful against his conscience. It's not the first time he feels like he's overstepping some invisible line, and he sees her eyes widen a bit before she recomposes herself.

"Right... right." She falters, and he notices. "I know!"

Keen eye for detail.

"... Ozuma?" she starts, gently. As if she's stepping on egg shells. "Your teammates aren't coming back anytime soon, are they?"

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and everything goes deathly still.

"... No."

It's probably as honest as he's ever been.


	4. Staying

**Title: **Balance  
**Pairing/Characters: **Ozuma/Hilary  
**Status: **(4/4) - Complete  
**Disclaimer: **Beyblade (c) Aoki Takao  
**Time Line: **Post-Season 3  
**Author's Notes: **The final part.

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: STAYING**

He told her the rest of it. About lost teammates and fallen leaders, about an accomplished mission, about all of it when she had been on pins and needles to stop herself from asking him about it outright. She hadn't needed to.

Hilary found ways to get away from him after _that _little talk.

She'd stop talking about the past after he had told her of their mission being fulfilled, about everything, and would only ask him in that formal manner if he could _please pass that bread _at dinner She stopped helping him with his injuries too, and would conveniently be asleep by the time he got back late at night.

He'd noticed, of course. And she could tell it wore thin on him – she's come to recognize what every little detail meant, when he was upset and when he wasn't; she'd memorized _him_.

She almost wished she hadn't – maybe then everything would've been okay, not full of tension and discomfort, and maybe everything could've gone back to normal –

Hilary stops her train of thought, and pulls the sheets a little over her head as she snuggles deeper into her little space on the floor. _Normal_. She didn't know when it started, but she had started considering Ozuma as being _normal_. As being a part of her life – someone she's grown to see everyday, almost as if she _expects_ him to be there everyday from now on

_Like the Bladebreakers_. Her eyes widened a bit, the words echoing in her head like chime bells. She wondered if it would be bad of her to take that step over the line to call him a _friend_.

How in the world had _that _happened?

There was a storm brewing outside – the rain poured heavily against the roof, and she entertained the thought of it collapsing down on her under all the weight before she berated herself for thinking of something so horrible.

Despite that, Hilary turned and looked out the window that was cracked open on the other side of the hut that she had grown so used to over the past two months. She could see the flash of lightning, and the rumbling of thunder became louder and louder as she sat there and watched it.

Hilary's stomach felt as if it had just jumped into her throat, choking her. She suddenly felt ashamed of her childish behavior. _Some class president you are_. She remembered last night when she had gone to bed early – she had practically felt his eyes burning into her back, a silent question that she refused to answer. She wondered if he had managed to wrap the bandages around himself decently. It was such a sentimental thought, and she waved it away because she knew there had been a time before now when she hadn't been here to help him. _But his teammates were. _

She shook her head, and turned away from the window and a door where a potential blader may have walked through any moment. She still listened intently, however. Just in case.

This animosity she felt towards him was entirely new ground for her – it felt awkward and scary and it was like taking one step forward and two steps back. Had she really been wasting her time here, waiting for people who wouldn't come back? The thought that he had been keeping such a secret had upset her – after all, hadn't she shared everything about herself with him?

_No. _Hilary clenched her teeth and growled, finger nails digging into her palm. He wasn't a Bladebreaker. He would never want to _be _a Bladebreaker. She had to stop thinking of him as one of the guys. She had to stop touching him as if he needed her support, had to stop acting as a coach, had to stop crawling towards him as if he were some kind of replacement to the old memories.

She could've been sick.

It gnawed at her. Was she really such a lonely and bitter person? Could she really just not let go? She'd always thought very highly of herself, but as she sat there lying in bed with bugs and a storm and a vague sense of deja vu, she realized that she was scum, scum, _scum_.

Everything suddenly seemed to push down on her until she was crushed under the guilt and the knowledge and the feelings and the desire to _just go home_.

She was just so _tired_. Had this been the reason why the boys had never mentioned their old travels and adventures beyond what was necessary? Had it worn them out? Hilary remembered one specific video out of the many she had watched on Kenny's laptop that one night, and her heart quivered with such a sense of remorse and frustration and _love _that it was all she could feel as she practically threw herself out of bed and onto the hard wooden floor.

Reaching over to blindly search for the first aid kit on her side, she barely even let herself put her shoes on before she was sprinting through the rain and the need to make things right.

* * *

"_Are you proud of yourself now, Ozuma?"_

Whenever Ozuma would unleash the full power of Flash Leopard, he would hear the whistle of battle and the yells of old ghosts in his head. The only other people who knew what the strain did to him was the elder and the other Saint Shields, and as more and more of them screamed and _burned _at his brain, he was fully determined to keep it that way.

He realized he was angry at her. Furious, even. Maybe that was why most of the voices were hers, and why he was suddenly remembering things of her from the past when he had barely even recognized her all those months ago when she had shown up at the village. He didn't like being ignored – his pride and his skills weren't meant to be disregarded in that way.

Ozuma could imagine Dunga, Joseph and Mariam in his head. He could picture them all sitting around a campfire in some far-off land that he didn't comprehend, talking with each other about him. About how pathetic he had become.

"_Man, what happened? I've never seen Ozuma this down before – he's like some kinda zombie. Should I punch him in the face?" _

"_He's really lost his edge." _

"_I told him he needed to get over it. We should just leave him alone and let him work it out by himself for now."_

His friends didn't need him. Something about that bugged him more than he would ever let on.

Flash Leopard gave a strangled roar as a flash of lightning came rolling towards him. Ozuma couldn't tell if the flame in front of him was from the storm or from his bit beast.

He was exhausted and wet, but that had never stopped him from training before. Days like these were almost normal for as long as he could remember his childhood.

_It's always been that way, hasn't it? _Always with a Beyblade in his hand, always preparing for that next step. He was a warrior. He was powerful. How could he have imagined himself for a _second _without his Flash Leopard? Had he really been so lost and alone without his teammates? If they could actually see him in person this very moment, burnt and insane, what would they think? The different scenarios spun around in his head like a broken record.

He never wanted to get so close to her. He'd never had any intention of letting her stay with him so she could worm her way into his mind and pull him down memory lane. But he had to admit she was stronger than she looked because she sure had pulled him down more than he ever expected her to –

Flash Leopard cried out suddenly and dissolved into it's blade.

Too much, too soon, tipped the scale again.

Ozuma picked it up and gazed down at it for a second, and wasn't particularly surprised to find out most of the parts had melted.

Almost as if he had melted along with it, he could feel the rain against his skin and hear the boom of thunder in the distance. He winced. It hurt his wounds and drenched right through the bandages he had half-heartedly applied.

Sitting down in the mud to take off his harness – _that sharp, sharp harness which constricted his movements and bit through his flesh_ – Ozuma was annoyed to realize just how much he'd come to depend on her constant attention towards him. Oh, he was fully capable of taking care of himself, he was a big boy, really. But he had come to let her into his life, and he had become _used _to her, just like his teammates, his _friends_. Now that she was decidedly upset with him, he actually found that he... _missed _her.

Ozuma never thought he'd ever feel bad about keeping Saint Shield matters to himself.

But perhaps that was what was wrong with him. She was too much girl, not enough blader, and he found he really didn't mind all that much after the whispered words and the loneliness and this strange friendship that had been forged between them.

He pulled himself away from it all then – the rain had already soaked him to the bone, and by now he doubted even the cloak he had left further up the hill would help him now. It was probably just as wet as he was.

His blade was practically falling apart in his hands, and he picked himself up off the ground and began the trudge up the path that had led him down to the training grounds and the graves of his ancestors. He could recall with a small smirk the day Hilary had accidentally taken a seat upon one of the gravestones during the first couple days of her stay, and he had yelled at her. He also remembered the swift leap she had taken to the dirt and the frantic apologies afterwards -

And almost as if him thinking of her was like some sort of signal, he was practically run into the ground with a lot of brown hair, wet pink clothes, and _Hilary _in his arms.

Ozuma gave a grunt of pain as the back of his head slammed against something. He guessed it was a rock.

She still held him tightly, voice muffled against his chest as she whispered soothing words that he almost didn't hear. "Sorry," she said, "So, so sorry."

He steadied himself against her by putting a hand on her shoulder, and she looked down at him with a horrified expression.

"You look _awful_!" she cried.

He'd noticed. But he couldn't say anything because he couldn't stop _staring_ at her. She was rumpled and in her pajamas and wet and still _hugging him_. Which was probably why he had let her guide him back up the hill, and hadn't protested at all when she had tugged him down so she could look at the result of his recent training.

"I'm _so _sorry, Ozuma." She kept saying it, and he hated her for it.

"It's not your fault." It was the first thing he said back, and that seemed to have blocked out the next string of apologies she had prepared to blurt out because there was now no sound coming from her except the hinge of the first aid kit she had brought and the slap of her clothes against the ground.

He had eventually found his cloak before she had went to work, and had let her wear it, despite it being dirty and wet. The image of something long and faded looked different and oddly right.

He stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt the sudden peace between them.

She was never one for long silences, however. "You could've really hurt yourself, you know," she chided.

He wondered if she noticed the older bandages, and quickly shoved the question away. There was no doubt that she did. "This is nothing."

There was a swift knock at the back of his head, and he turned slightly to look over his shoulder at her.

She still held her shaking fist up, looking like she was about to cry.

Ozuma tried not to let it bother him by turning away, but it did. "Hilary," he started – tone light, posture straight, slight slip of his pride, "I appreciate this." It was the closest thing to a thank you he had ever given her.

He didn't look back at her to see her expression, but he knew it had softened greatly, and that the fist had been put away and had been replaced by the gentleness she would display to him on several occasions.

The rain had died down at bit, drizzling lightly on top of their heads.

"I've been thinking," she said, tying the last knot before standing up.

He stood up too, and frowned at her. "Thinking about what?"

She looked pale. Nervous. "I think it's about time I should be going. Home, I mean." Leaning against a tree, she shivered.

Ozuma shivered, too – with a sudden anger that swelled up and boiled in his throat. "What?" he asked, trying to control the urge to shout. He didn't want a replay of his friends leaving him – startled and a replica of his other self; the one that had seen better days. "Why?"

The last part came out as a demand, and she flinched a bit, but kept her ground and looked him full in the face, determination apparant. "Because I need more time. I'm not strong enough yet to handle it. I'm tired."

_Tired. _She was tired. He knew tired – he had felt it non-stop in those days of hunting the bit beasts from her team - always hurrying, scheming, watching, preparing – and he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the forlorn expression on her face. He wanted to shake her, challenge her, tell her what it was like for _him _to be tired and how he would give _anything _to have that back and she was just giving up -

A hand slammed down against the bark of the tree, right next to her face. She blinked at him, astonished at his abrupt show of anger, and her eyes narrowed as she looked at the hand so close to her. "Ozuma..." There was a low warning there. He wondered if he was scaring her.

And he didn't know what made him do it – whatever was making him tick in that moment - but with a snarl, he said,"Let me teach you." He ignored her shocked look. "If you really want to Beyblade so badly, then I'll show you."

She was shaking her head so hard he thought it might fall off. "No!" she all but yelled at him. "That's not what I meant – I -"

"Why'd you come see me first?"

Whatever she was about to say seemed to die on her tongue, and she just stared at him, long and hard. As if she were thinking about it.

His other hand came up to the other side of her head, as if trapping her there until she answered.

She looked more than a little miffed. "I..." she stopped. Swallowed. Looked at something over his shoulder. "I thought it would be a good place to start." Her voice wobbled a bit at the end, and he furrowed his eyebrows as if telling her to continue. "Your battle with Tyson at the park had been the first I'd ever seen."

Ozuma pulled back a little, surprised. There was no way he could ever remember his first look at a Beyblade battle – there had been so, _so_ many – but he understood the intimacy of it all. How vulnerable she made herself to him in that moment. He breathed in deeply, because her honesty was making him re-analyze everything about the situation like it always did.

There was just so much adrenaline pumping through his veins then – the hurt, the loneliness, the desperation, the feeling of her skin against his, the lingering thought that maybe they weren't all that different because of it – and it all collided to the point of making him see stars. The sentimentally of Hilary's words was like a confession – deep, a personal phantom that she had shared just with _him_. He could've kissed her as she stood there going on about something that had to do with computers and videos, and it wasn't long before his lips found the side of her mouth, blind and just a little desperate.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her closer, tighter, and he felt her fingers digging into his upper arms, startled and trembling against the hold he had on her. She was pushed up against the tree now, the bark digging into her back - muffled sounds escaped her and tied knots in his chest, and he couldn't help but hold onto her as if she were a life line. The ends of her hair fell out of the hood against his hands, and it was all just a fumbling mess and awkward and just _so crazy – _

He let her go, and with a startled yelp, she fell to the ground without the support. And as she sat there in the mud, dirty and flushed, wearing _his _cloak, he couldn't help but find it all funny and incredibly endearing. He choked out a hoarse chuckle while still trying to catch his breath.

Hilary seemed to feel the same way, because she was laughing along with him and rubbing the back of her head until he heard her take in a gasp of air and suddenly she was laughing as if she were about to really cry this time.

"Stop crying," he ordered, slumping down next to her shaking form.

"I-I'm _not crying -"_ she managed to blurt out at him, before she was rubbing her eyes and sniffling as if to emphasize this.

He watched her silently, a million things swirling around in his head at once – _wrong wrong wrong tears can't be handled something to hold onto the leader needs to act like one more often _-

He stopped. _Be a leader. _Mariam's words rang out to him. He wasn't really sure _this _was what she'd had in mind, but the more he thought about it, the more he could recall every detail about a blue dragon and a boy and a stone and a rusty old amusement park and a _promise_. There wouldn't be anything like that again, he knew. No more bit beasts to seal unless Tyson lost control, and so far that hadn't happened – nothing had happened for the past couple of years until two months ago, and he realized it was the most excitement he'd had in a Very Long Time.

He could picture Tyson's face in his mind, always cocky, always arrogant. He suddenly wondered if it would be the same if he saw it now, what was there to stop him. An idea slowly formed in his head.

_"__Hey, I'll see you again, won't I? We've got a score to settle."_

"_I'm sure we'll meet again someday, Tyson."_

"Well..." Hilary said after a minute, looking embarrassed. "And to think I had been a little scared of you before."

Ozuma looked over to her. It felt as if his body was weightless. "And now?"

She scratched the back of her head, a shaky laugh escaping her, tears still in her eyes. "I think I still am."

"We're just full of surprises," he replied. Standing up, he shook a bit of the grime off his clothes before saying, "Think your team would be happy to see me?" Abrupt. Sudden. The old and new met at the same wavelength for the first time in years.

The smile on her face was gone now, and was replaced with an apprehensive frown. "But... didn't you guys say the bit beasts - ?"

He waved her off before she could finish. "That wasn't what I meant. This would be just for _me_. And I could use a little adventure."

Her eyes had widened throughout his explanation, and she only seemed to be able to speak once he had pulled her off the ground by her hands.

"Wha-but..." She eyed him for a minute in disbelief before her expression became soft. A chord had been struck. "Are you sure?"

He noticed the rain had stopped, and just looked over at her and _smiled_.

"Yes."

* * *

OMFG they kissed!! See, I can write them. Well? Pfft. You decide. Hopefully it didn't suck _too _badly...

Anyways, thanks for reading, guys. This little crack fic was real fun.


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